Chapter 30 #2
The imprisoned creatures retreat from the sudden glare. Due to wounding or prolonged emaciation, they do not move quickly. Behind me, Boreas swears softly. I bite the flesh of my cheek as a deep shame rises from the depths of where I’d buried it.
I did not often venture below. Lady Clarisse spent countless hours here, gathering whatever ingredients—hair, tears, fingernails, organs—she required. If I did not witness the atrocities, then I could not be blamed for them.
“What is this place?” The South Wind’s tone is low, horrified.
“This is where my m—Lady Clarisse—conducts her experiments on immortals. She uses their… parts to create poisons and teas, which she then sells to the townsfolk of St. Laurent.”
Zephyrus has covered his nose with his tunic. Boreas peers into a nearby cell, saying nothing at all.
It is clear to me now just how perverse her ladyship truly is. And how spineless I have been not to have fought against this injustice.
In the corner of my eye, an immortal slinks toward the cell door.
It curls its long, semi-translucent fingers around the iron bars, the eel-like body clothed in tattered rags that may have once been trousers, a tunic.
The creature gazes at me with large white eyes set over a slitted nose. In the end, I’m forced to look away.
“Has Lady Clarisse ever captured gods, aside from our brother?” Notus asks.
Zephyrus and Boreas turn to peer at me as well.
“Once,” I admit. “A minor goddess, if my memory is correct. After extracting the necessary, um, supplies however, she let the goddess go.”
“Does she release the immortals once she no longer has a use for them?” Notus presses.
Has a use for them. It sounds horrible. “Y-yes.” I accidentally inhale with my nose, and the reek hits full force.
I gag and quickly shift back to breathing through my mouth.
“Well. Actually, I’m not sure. Lady Clarisse always claimed she set them free, but I don’t think that’s true,” I mumble, my voice tapering off.
A faint scratching comes from somewhere down the line of cells. I study the men, wondering if they will punish me for my negligence.
“What did she extract?” the North Wind demands.
There is no easy way to say it. The words will hurt. “One of her lungs, I believe.”
The men utter a string of curses.
“I can’t remember any gods from recent memory though,” I hurriedly add. “The majority of Lady Clarisse’s tonics use parts from other immortal creatures, as they are easier to come by.”
“You mean easier to capture,” Boreas spits.
I drop my eyes, shame-faced.
“So,” the West Wind murmurs behind the cloth shielding his nose and mouth. “Our list of enemies has now multiplied.”
“She must die.” Notus’ deep rumble shivers across my skin. “She is a threat to all of immortal-kind.”
Die. My breath comes short. “That’s a bit hasty, don’t you think?”
“You would allow her to live?” Zephyrus cuts in. “To continue hurting innocents for her own gain?”
“No! You misunderstand me.”
“Zephyrus is right,” Boreas says. Somehow, he has closed the distance without me having realized it. “Shall our list of foes extend to three, then?”
My back hits the wall. Dampness seeps into the fabric of my thin, cotton dress. “I’m on your side,” I protest.
“Really,” he growls. “Because it seems like you have known of this atrocity and have done nothing to prevent it. How long have you been working for this woman?”
“Leave the girl alone, Boreas.” The South Wind shoves himself between us, a pillar of strength to break the encroaching wave. “She’s doing the best she can. We need to keep our focus.”
Nausea slips noose-like around my airway. It tightens subtly. “The weapons are over there.” I point half-heartedly to a storage closet, the door partially ajar. A small whimper comes from one of the cells, and I wipe the sweat from my brow. I feel sick.
But I cannot falter now. I must take responsibility, and so I nudge open the closet, hardening myself against the sight before me: every manner of weapon and tool, the majority of which Lady Clarisse has used to draw what she needs from those captured immortals, whether blood or hearts, livers or eyes or teeth.
“Take whatever will best serve you,” I say.
In silence, they gather their weapons. I, however, turn to look at the long line of cells. I have run, I have evaded, I have denied. But I owe it to myself—and to those suffering—to witness the impact of my neglect.
And so I gaze into the cells. There are broken bones, open wounds, amputated limbs, missing eyes and ears and tails, cracked horns, holes in mouths where teeth had been.
One particular creature looks like a bear or wolf, or maybe a large cat, with its arrowed ears.
Difficult to say, considering the severity of its emaciation.
I’m sorry, I think. I should have helped you. But you will suffer no longer. From this moment forward, you will be free.
Upon reaching the end of the aisle, I remove the key ring from my pocket and return to the very first cell. The Anemoi watch as I begin opening doors, freeing those imprisoned.
One by one, the immortals scurry down the aisle, up the stairs to the estate. Some limp or hobble. Others growl at me in warning, refusing to leave until I retreat from view. I wish them speed and health and hope they are able to return to their homelands soon.
When I enter the cell of the eel-like immortal, it shrinks back. I reassure it in a soft tone that I won’t hurt it.
“You’re free now,” I murmur, my heart breaking all over again.
As I reach out, the creature flinches away, yet I lay my palm on its battered face gently, smoothing away the flaking blood.
“Be well,” I say, and follow the Anemoi up the stairs and into the light.